


Audience Participation

by lyricwritesprose



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale does not have the brain cell tonight, Crack, Gen, Humor, Sort Of, The brain cell is mostly absent from these proceedings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27417289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricwritesprose/pseuds/lyricwritesprose
Summary: An angel whose powers run on belief.  What happens when he's specifically asked to believe?
Comments: 30
Kudos: 118
Collections: Lyric's Emergency Fluff Collection





	Audience Participation

“Crowley!” Aziraphale didn’t stamp his foot, because he had some dignity, and he was neither petulant nor panicking. “Stop laughing and  _ do something!” _

Crowley didn’t stop laughing. Crowley, in fact, was gripping the edge of Aziraphale’s desk to stay upright. “You—didn’t—” he managed to gasp out.

“I got involved in the show! I  _ liked _ the show! All right, granted, the ‘Indian’ nonsense was a bit much, but most of the musical was charming! And then they got to the bit where Tinker Bell gets poisoned, and they asked the audience to clap and believe in fairies, and I . . . I think I got carried away.”

The multicolored, glowing sprites zipping around Aziraphale’s bookshop would have agreed with him, except that they were mostly involved in a game of tag. They had—Aziraphale knew perfectly well, he had read the book—only room for one thought in their minds at once. That thought was evidently  _ not, _ “I will have Proper Respect For The Books.”

And  _ Crowley, _ infuriating creature that he was, was doing  _ nothing _ to help, just laughing so hard that he wheezed. Despite the fact that this was  _ in no way funny. _

“Crowley! They’re getting fairy dust on my first editions!”

Crowley pounded the desk weakly.

Aziraphale ducked as a blue spark of light swept especially close to his hair. “The  _ spines _ of my  _ books _ are  _ glowing! _ Do something!”

Crowley did not do something.

“Crowley, please!”

That, for a wonder, seemed to do the trick. Crowley straightened up, looked around, and then—still chuckling—clicked his fingers.

All the lights vanished.

Aziraphale breathed out, a long sigh. “Thank you.” He smiled gratefully at Crowley.

“Could have done it yourself,” Crowley pointed out.

“I couldn’t  _ think _ of anything!” Aziraphale had an awful thought. “You didn’t—you didn’t  _ kill _ them, did you? They were my responsibility, I created them, and I know they were a nuisance but—”

“Of course I didn’t kill them!” Crowley sounded scornful. “I  _ sent _ them.”

“Oh, good! Er. Where?”

“Only one possible place, really,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale thought about it. “Second star to the right,” he said.

“And straight on till morning.”

“If the humans ever get into space, the way they like to think, they’ll be very confused some day.” Aziraphale thought of something else. “Hang on, you’ve read the book? Or seen the musical?”

“Of course not!”

“But you knew exactly what they were, you knew exactly what I did—”

“I can  _ bring them back, _ you know.”

“Ah. Well. At any rate, I suppose I should say thank you.” Crowley wouldn’t let him say thank you, but there were ways of saying it all the same. “I’m very grateful.”

“You won’t be,” Crowley assured him, “when you realize how much I’m  _ not _ going to let you live this one down.”


End file.
